


Le Colibri

by ScaleGoblet



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, M/M, an oc fic i guess, not really sure what this is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-24 23:02:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19733461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScaleGoblet/pseuds/ScaleGoblet
Summary: Collège  Françoise Dupont has a new student and her name is Camille Delacroix. All is going great at her new school until an akuma attack forces her into a situation she thought she'd never have to face. Caught up in the middle of a conflict involving the miraculous, Camille navigates her own powers, a difficult relationship with Team Miraculous, and a massively embarrassing, massively unrequited crush on her seatmate.First chapter was previously posted to Ao3 but I took it down. Canon events may happen differently or be non-chronological.





	1. Making Introductions

I was new to Collège Françoise Dupont. In fact, I was entirely new to Paris. I stared up at the building, sat in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower and slowly mounted the stairs.

There were so many things that could happen at a new school. What if I made a fool of myself on the first day? What if no one wanted to befriend me because I was the new kid? What if I did make friends but was unable to spend time with them because I didn’t know where anything in Paris was and I got lost and never found my way back home and had to live forever on the streets with only the clothes on my back and a scruffy cat named Felix to call my friend?

I took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, and let it out. Nothing, good or bad, would be able to happen if I didn’t actually step inside. So I stomped on the ground, planting my feet in a determined stance, and continued up the stairs of my new school. When I looked around I could see other students making their way up the stairs as well and followed them through the large double doors at the front of the school.

Clutching my bag to my chest, I made my way towards the Principal’s office and knocked on the heavy door. Hearing a call to enter, I pushed it aside and walked cautiously in. Bookshelves lined the walls on either side of the room from floor to ceiling and the view though the window directly across the door was so beautiful that I almost didn’t see the Principal himself, sat in his desk chair. 

The man smiled patiently at me. “Is there something that I can help you with, young lady?”  
I looked at him and tried to explain myself all at once. “I . . . um . . .new student. . .you spoke to mom. . . uh that’s me.”  
He blinked owlishly at me.  
I took another steadying breath and tried again. “I’m the new student. I believe you spoke to my mother about my attendance.”  
He seemed all at one to remember the conversation. “Ah, yes. You’re the Delecroix girl. I assure you that you will have the best time here at Collège Françoise Dupont,” he said standing and grabbing a folder from his desk. He opened it and scanned the contents before saying, “It says here that you will be joining Miss Bustier's class for the moment. This may be subject to change, it is not often that we receive a transfer to our school so late in the year, but I believe you will do well there.”  
I reached out, thinking that he would give me the folder and leave me to find the classroom on my own but instead he pushed back his chair and stood.   
“I will be taking you to Miss Bustier’s class for now but for the remainder of today and the rest of the school year you will have to find your classes on your own.”  
I breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” I said and took a moment to scan his desk’s nameplate, “Principal Damocles. If I have questions about schooling here will I be able to ask you?”  
He hesitated. “I believe that Miss Bustier will be better suited to answering any questions that you may have for the rest of the year. Come now,” he said, walking over and placing a hand on my shoulder.

I stood, slinging on my bag and let him steer me out of his office and down the halls of the school. How would I ever be able to keep track of all of the rooms? How would I keep track of my classes? We stopped in front of a door and, without knocking, Principal Damocles turned the knob.

“Excuse me,” he said rather too loudly, “Miss Bustier, I have a student that will be joining your class.”

Miss Bustier, a smartly dressed redheaded woman, paused in her lesson to the class. She looked at Principal Damocles, perhaps a bit annoyed at his disruption but then smiled warmly at me. “Thank you Principal Damocles. Now, would you come to introduce yourself to the rest of the class?”

I looked up at the Principal and he urged me forward. I walked over to stand in front of Miss Bustier’s desk. Adjusting my glasses, I looked around the room. Everyone in class seemed so colorful and there a few faces that stuck out immediately. On the left in the front row there was a girl whose clothes and attitude screamed money sat next to a redhead that seemed much too mousey and sweet to be her friend. Directly behind her was a girl who kept her colorful dreadlocks tied back with a bandanna. I noticed as well that in the first two rows on the right side there were two empty seats. One was next to a pretty girl with glasses and a plaid shirt and the other was next to a boy with headphones slung around his neck directly in front of her.

After taking perhaps too long to look over some of my new classmates, I spoke. “Hello, my name is Camille Delacroix. As you can tell I am new to Collège Françoise Dupont,” I said slowly, trying to get the pronunciation correct, “but I am new to Paris as well. I lived with my father in America until just recently. Now I live here with my mother. I hope that I’ll be able to adjust well and I hope that we will get along.” I looked back at Miss Bustier to see whether my introduction was satisfactory.

She smiled once again. “There are only two available seats in the class at the moment, one next to Ivan and the other next to Nathaniel. I leave my students free to choose their own seating as long as they are not disruptive. Feel free to have your pick.”  
I looked back at her, confused. “Only two seats? What about the two open in the first and second rows?”  
Just then there was the sound of slapping footsteps and the door burst open. In tumbled a girl with black hair and a blonde boy. They crashed on the ground in a tangle and, though I was shocked, the class only laughed and Miss Bustier wore a put on expression.   
“What excellent timing,” she said. “We were only just talking about the two of you. Those seats you asked about, Ms. Delacroix, they are taken by these two students. I hope you will take from them and learn that I do not excuse tardiness. Adrien, Marinette, I hope that you will learn how to arrive to school on time. All three of you, take your seats.” After this, Miss Bustier left the room to speak with Principal Damocles.

I watched as they took their seats with their heads hung and looked for the two empty seats that Miss Bustier mentioned. The boy that I assumed to be Ivan was simple enough to find, he was the largest kid in class and wore mostly black. Nathaniel was much smaller and I almost did not see him, as he sat behind Ivan. I walked over with the intent to sit with Nathaniel who seemed most welcoming if not a bit shy.

I felt something trip me on my way over and I landed on my hands and knees. My glasses were knocked off and I was lucky that I could see well enough without them to get up.   
I grabbed them quickly and scrambled to my seat. The rich girl in the front laughed uproariously and after a sharp look was sent her way, the girl next to her began to laugh as well. I sat down quickly, face hot, and put my glasses back on.

I set my bag down by my side and pulled out a notebook and began to write. My first day and I’ve already managed to make a fool of myself by being a klutz. Nice going, me. 

On the next page, I drew the layout of the classroom with each of the student desks and Miss Bustier’s desk in the front of the room. On it I wrote my own name in the place where I was sitting. I wrote Nathaniel’s name next to mine and Ivan’s name in front. I paused, trying to remember the other names that I had heard today and wrote in the names of the two late students, Adrien and Marinette in their places. I wrote in Miss Bustier’s name as well. 

Underneath the drawing, I wrote a note to myself. Keep track of the names and faces in this classroom. When you ultimately get confused you’ll know who may help you and who won’t.

I closed my journal after this and Miss Bustier reentered the classroom. “Class, we will be continuing with our lesson. Camille, I understand that were made familiar with this work?”  
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied.   
“Excellent,” she said. “I expect that you will be able to follow along nicely enough for the project that I will be assigning.”  
A bit overwhelmed, I asked, “Are you sure that I will? After all, I haven’t been been present for any of your class discussions or course work.”  
She gave an obliging look, “If it proves necessary, I can assign one of your classmates to act as a tutor to you to get you up to speed but, as I said before, I am confident that you will be able to handle your new workload.   
Thoroughly silenced, I nodded and took out a notebook to write in.


	2. Making Friends and Interesting Developments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Directly follows Chapter 1: Making Introductions. Camille spends some time with new friends Marinette and Alya and quickly realizes some things.

After class, everyone packed up their belongings. I watched, a bit confused. I knew that schools in France allowed time for breaks in the middle of the day, but I had never experienced one and did not know where I should be going or what I should be doing. I packed my own belongings slowly, trying to remember the layout of the school hallways and stood.

I left the room and turned down the hall that I remembered leading to Principal Damocles’ office. I knew that from there I could remember my way out of the school and to my class. 

Suddenly there was a shrill squeak, as if the soles of someone’s shoes were grinding hard against the ground. I jumped and turned around, finding the girl with the black hair from Miss Bustier’s class. She stood, or rather hunched, in front of me with her hands pressed against her knees as she caught her breath.

I stepped back, pulling out my journal and scanning the page where I had drawn the seating chart. “You’re . . . Marinette, right?”

She held up a hand, still hunched and looking down, before taking in a large breath. After catching her breath, she stood to her full height and smiled. “Yeah, that’s me. And you’re the new girl.”

I nodded, a bit taken aback still. “Yes, I am. My name is Camille. Was . . . there something that you wanted?”

She stared for a moment and then seemed to remember what she had intended to say. “Oh, right! Well, I know what it’s like to be in a new school. Well, not me but my best friend Alya was new to this school and that day happened to be pretty wild for me for a lot of reasons. I wanted to welcome you here.”

I smiled. “Thank you. I’ve gone to the same school for most of my life, so transferring here was really unnerving. I’m sure Alya did alright with a friend like you.”

Her cheeks pinked and she scratched at the back of her head. “Really I’m the lucky one to have Alya. I’m kind of a mess sometimes. I think you would like her though. Actually, she and I were going to go to my family’s bakery for something to eat. Would you like to come?”

My mouth fell open before I closed it with a snap. “Oh, that would be so nice! Thanks, Marinette!” Suddenly energized, I bounced on my toes. “How far away is your family’s bakery?”

She smiled sheepishly. “It’s just across the street which makes it a bit awkward that you saw me arrive so late today. Alya will probably be waiting outside for me, let’s go.”

She and I found Alya waiting on the school stairs, tapping away at the screen of her phone. I noticed that she was the same pretty girl with glasses from my class and made a note of it in my journal. Marinette raised a hand and greeting and was likely going to say hello before Alya looked up and noticed her all on her own.

“Marinette! You will not believe the photos that just came out today,” she exclaimed.

“Photos,” I asked. “Photos of who?”

Alya’s eyes bugged as she stared at me incredulously. “Girl, are you serious? Lookie here,” she said, showing me her phone. “You’re new here so I’ll give you a bit of a pass, but are you really telling me you haven’t heard of Ladybug and Chat Noir?”

I grabbed her phone to look at the image more closely . . . and froze.

In it two people who could only be described as superheroes were pictured vaulting across a rooftop in some sort of chase. They seemed happy as the red-spotted girl raced ahead of her black-clad partner. I stared at the photo in shocked silence before I realized that Alya was still talking.

“ - just going to be absolutely amazing for the Ladyblog! I mean if this isn’t LadyNoir evidence I don’t know what is!”

“Uh . . . what,” I let out lamely, handing the enthusiastic girl’s phone back.

Alya glanced at me and shook her head exasperatedly. “I’ll explain everything later. Now c’mon! Marinette’s parents have the best bakery around!”

“I wouldn’t say we’re the best,” Marinette cut in, but the proud puffing of her chest let on that she certainly did think highly of them regardless.

I smiled at her warmly. “I’m sure it’s great, Marinette!”

Once inside, Marinette’s parents, Mr. Dupain and Mrs. Cheng I was sure to note, handed us a plate of fresh danishes and let us into their house. From there, Marinette lead us to her room in the attic. The entire place was sweet and warm and, I imagined, totally Marinette in essence.

We each took a seat around the room and dug into our snacks. Around the room, I spotted a few pictures of Marinette and her friends and I recognized a few of them from our class. Popping up most often though was a blond haired boy I recognized as Adrien, who had been late earlier. Across the room were various creative projects as well and I spotted a mannequin with a half-finished skirt design still pinned to it.

“You must be very interested in fashion, Marinette,” I said.

“Oh,” she said excitedly, “I am! More than anything I want to be a fashion designer. My designs aren’t as good as they could be just yet but there are definitely a few things I’m really proud of. I made what I’m wearing now, actually, and it’s one of my favorite outfits!”

“Really,” I said, stunned. Her jacket was very well made to have been stitched by a non-professional and, though the seams on her jeans were definitely done by hand rather than by machine, they held up so well you could barely tell if you weren’t looking for it. “That’s amazing, Marinette! Is that why you have pictures of Adrien up in your room?”

At this, Marinette seemed to short-circuit. “What? What do you mean? I don’t have that many pictures of Adrien! And if I did, which I don’t, it certainly wouldn’t be because his eyes are so pretty and he’s totally dreamy. And it’s definitely not because he’s nice too. I don’t have a crush on Adrien, you have a crush on Adrien!” She finished this little monologue breathless and slapping a hand to her forehead. 

I glanced at Alya who up until this point had been tapping away at her phone. “She’s got it bad for him, huh?” 

Alya nodded with a fond smile but did not look up.

“It’s okay, Marinette,” I said as the girl moaned about what a disaster the situation was. “To be honest, if you hadn’t said anything, I would have assumed you kept the pictures because you like fashion, not Adrien. After all, as a future designer, it’s got to be fun going to school with a famous model, right?”

Marinette looked up at me with wide eyes. “You know Adrien?”

I shrugged. “Not well, but all of those pictures are from magazines and photoshoots, right? Adrien’s not very big in America since, I guess, Gabriel is more popular in France, but I just figured that if your dad’s a fashion designer you might be in the business too.”

At this Alya laughed, glancing up. “I like this one, she’s sharp!” Marinette flopped on the ground in dismay, still mumbling about how painfully obvious her crush had to be. Alya continued on, “You know, I could use a brain like yours helping out on the Ladyblog.”

“Oh, right! What is the Ladyblog, Alya?”

“Well,” she began, energized, “believe it or not, yours truly is the number one source for all things Ladybug! I’ve been tracking this girl since she appeared on the Paris scene and with your help, I might finally have a crack at figuring out who she is behind that mask.”

Marinette tensed. “Alya, not this again! Ladybug is a superhero, not a celebrity. If Hawkmoth ever gets ahold of her identity what’ll happen then?”

“But, Marinette, just think - “

“Wait,” I interrupted. “I get that Ladybug and the cat boy are superheroes but if Hawkmoth is some sort of nemesis to them, why would you reveal her identity?”

“His name is Chat Noir,” Marinette supplied. “And Hawkmoth is a supervillain who turns people into akumas using negative emotions. Which is exactly why, Alya, you shouldn’t reveal her identity.”

“But, Marinette, who better to get the scoop than me? I’m sure if I can just get another interview with Ladybug I can gather some clues!”

“I don’t know,” I put in warily. “If this guy is making people supervillains when they’re upset maybe revealing Ladybug’s identity is a bad call. What if she gets so upset that Hawkmoth targets her?”

Alya paused at this. “I . . . guess that’s fair. But I don’t have to publish the info right away! I could wait until they defeat Hawkmoth!”

I smiled. “I’m sure your big scoop is waiting, Alya.”

She smiled back gratefully before glancing down at her phone. “Uh-oh! Looks like we had better start heading back.”

The three of us packed up our belongings and left the bakery, waving goodbye to Marinette’s parents. When we made it back to school, Marinette broke off to head to the restroom.

“You know,” Alya said to me as we entered Ms. Bustier’s classroom, “Ladyblog or not, I think we’re gonna get along great, Camille.”

“Yeah, me too,” I replied.

I made my way up to my seat, careful not to trip this time and smiled briefly at Nathaniel. He smiled back but, I noticed, was sure to hide whatever it was he had been drawing. That was fine, I thought, settling into my seat. People were allowed to have their secrets.

A beam of sunlight through the window caught the bracelet I wore as I made more notes in my journal. There was a faint rustle in the pocket of my sweater. Secrets indeed.


	3. Major Mistakes and Miraculous Messes

The school day ended without much fanfare and, despite wanting to spend time with Marinette and Alya or trying to make new friends, I knew I needed to head home as quickly as possible.

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” I called, speeding by the two girls as they made their way down the front stairs.

I could see my mother waiting for me in the car. I had told her about a million times that she didn’t need to pick me up from school but she insisted and eventually we agreed that she could drive me home the first day so that I could get used to the neighborhood. After that, she’d be more comfortable with me walking to school on my own.

As I was rummaging through my backpack to find my homework, she asked, “So how _was_ school today, dear?”

I paused. “I enjoyed myself, I guess. doesn’t seem super hard so far but just looking at this homework,” I said, glancing at the pages, “I’m going to need to improve on my French pretty quickly so that I can keep up.”

“I’m happy to help whenever you need at home, but one of the best ways to learn a language is to speak it constantly. And the best way for you to do _that_ is to make some friends you can talk with!”

I smiled at this. “I think I might be able to do that soon! Today I hung out with two girls in my class, Marinette and Alya. They seem really nice.”

My mother looked at me briefly in the mirror as she drove. “I’m glad to hear it.”

The rest of the ride continued mostly in silence with the occasional word or two of assistance from my mom as I started my homework. All too soon, however, the ride was over.

“I’m going to be down in the shop,” my mom said as we stepped out of the car.

“Okay, got it,” I replied shouldering my bag. “I know you said I could have some prints put up in the store so I’ll try to get them done as soon as I have time.”

“Don’t rush,” she said, opening the door. “I’d rather you take your time to settle in and produce quality work than have you rush to get nonessential things done.”

I stepped inside after her, taking a look around the store. As long as she had lived in Paris, my mother had owned a little shop that sold paper goods: scrapbooking paper, journals, calligraphy tools, and prints and similar products. It was a good place to live for a crafting fiend like myself.

After hugging my mother goodbye, I headed upstairs to my room, closing the door gently behind myself and locking it for good measure.

Then I started screaming. 

“You’ve got to be _kidding_ me right now!”

“Camille wait,” came the reply, “it’s not as bad as you think!”

“Not as bad as I think,” I hissed, reaching into my pocket to grab ahold of Floxx. “Floxx it is _exactly_ as bad as I think! I told you before! I’m not cut out to be a superhero! I wasn’t back home and I’m not here!”

“But you _are_ , Camille,” he replied, looking up at me with wide blue eyes. “Things didn’t work out exactly the way you wanted them to back home but you did something amazing! You protected the miraculous.”

“Uh, yeah and what a fat lot of good it’s done us! I save a couple of miraculous from a minor supervillain only to have to scramble to take them with me on my move _across the globe_ to keep them safe when all I wanted to do was be finished with this whole thing and just be normal. And then to discover that not only was bringing them with me pointless, but I’ve delivered them directly into the middle of another miraculous mess?!”

“Well, yes, when you say it like that it sounds rather hopeless but -”

“Floxx,” I interrupted, “if this Hawkmoth guy is half as bad as the guy who was after you, and the fact that he decided to give his supervillain persona a name suggests that he is, we screwed up! We made a _major_ mistake!”

“Camille,” Floxx shouted, placing his little paws against my face, “just calm _down_! Take a moment and breathe. Now!”

I shut my mouth tightly, taking in stuttering breaths.

“Good,” he encouraged. “Now, listen to me. We may have made a mistake, but you haven’t made an appearance which means that Hawkmoth doesn’t even know we’re here! He likely doesn’t even know that your miraculous exists! You are guarding two miraculous that have been dormant for decades! If we continue to fly under the radar, we couldn’t be safer!”

I began to shake my head, to argue, but Floxx cut me off.

“No, Camille! We will be okay, we’re fine. If we need to act, we _will_ act, but the odds of that happening are so low they’re nearly nonexistent.”

The odds were not nonexistent, I was sure of it. Low, but not nonexistent. But I was also sure that the odds of leaving the country to escape this mess were also pretty low considering we had barely settled in France. “Have you ever _been_ active outside of America,” I asked Floxx wearily. 

At this, the blue creature laughed. “Camille, kwamis and miraculous can be active anywhere! While I’ve usually not traveled very far, I’ve been active all over the place.”

“Really,” I asked with some interest. Floxx had told me when we met that he had been inactive for quite some time. 

“Of course! This won’t even be my first time being active at the same time as a Ladybug. La Mariquita was very nice when I met her!”

At my look of confusion, Floxx launched into his story and for some time I forgot about Ladybug and Hawkmoth and this whole fiasco.

And my literature homework.


End file.
